


BAFTA Serenade

by lettalady



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, bafta 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the pictures of him having an absolute blast on the eve of his birthday after attending and presenting at the 2015 BAFTAs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	BAFTA Serenade

♫ “Say hey, good lookin’ - what ya got cookin’?” ♫

You shift under his shoulder to try to shush him. Birthday boy or no, your neighbors surely aren’t appreciating this drunken serenade in the wee hours of the morning.

♫ “How’s about cooking somethin’ up with meeeeeee?” ♫

“Tom. Shhhhhh.” You reach up and grab his chin, squeezing the stubble-covered area as you speak to him in a harsh whisper.

Still he sings on, dropping the words here and there as the pair of you weave and bob towards home. Guiding him from the car to the door has been … interesting. The man is all arms and legs on a good day. At least you’d had others helping you get him from the after party into the car. Now it is a buzzing you versus a considerably smashed him.

You’d left a light on in the kitchen but you needn’t have bothered. The predawn light makes maneuvering through the rooms easy enough once you gain admittance to your place. You’ve already removed your shoes, horrible things that pinched at your feet most of the night and were kicked off at the earliest opportunity.

All you want to do is lay down and burrow into the bed but _someone_ won’t stop _singing_ , even laying facedown beside you – with his shoes and jacket still on. You huff and heave yourself back up to sit at the edge of the bed and pry the shoes from his feet, then grab each foot by the ankle and half-toss, half-guide him more firmly onto the bed.

♫ “How’s about savin’ —- all your time for me?” ♫

At least you don’t have to worry about him suffocating himself on the pillow.

Poking him gets him to roll over enough to sit up. His tie is already tucked into his jacket pocket, so all that is left is getting the sleek black thing off his shoulders before he flops back onto the bed once more.

“Very helpful, Hiddleston.” You roll your eyes at him, setting his jacket over on the dresser before turning back to examine your handiwork. Poor thing is going to need more than sleep to feel like his usual self when he wakes. You reach over him to yank your big fluffy comforter up and over his body, then head towards the kitchen.

If you’d really thought about it, you would have gathered the needed supplies beforehand – had water and aspirin by the bedside and maybe already set the coffeemaker to brew.

But then you’d stuck to your plan on only drinking enough for a comfortable buzz.

At least the pantry is well stocked. Two bottles of water, a few extra tablets – one swallowed immediately for good measure – and you’re padding back towards the bedroom once more. You’ll have some sort of comfort food available once the pair of you are up and moving about again.

And caffeine. Lots of caffeine.

You stop in the doorway to smile at the way he is splayed out on the bed, taking up a little more than his fair share, not that you mind. Maybe you should capture a snapshot or two to use as proof tomorrow. _See sir? You are a bed-hog!_

A snippet of song lyric can be heard as he exhales and you wonder, just for a moment, if he’s playing you. If he’s not half as intoxicated as he seems and he’s seeing just how much you’ll let him get away with. 

And then you hear him softly snore.


End file.
